


Stormclouds

by thesecondseal



Series: Acts of Reclamation [7]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Animal Death, Apostates (Dragon Age), Arguing, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fire, Friendship, Judgment, Mages, Skyhold, Templars (Dragon Age), Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:12:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/pseuds/thesecondseal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long winter away, Spring settles firmly upon Skyhold. Essa's past comes to bear upon her future in unexpected ways as she investigates the Shrine of Dumat. (And we finally return to our regularly scheduled chapter format. :) )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warrior

Clouds lay heavy above the jagged ridges of the mountains. When the sun rose in shades in crimson and fire and the light pierced the bruised sky in golden flame, Essa knew that ill weather was coming. She didn’t know enough about the mountain seasons, though if she lived long enough, she would learn. She wondered how the spring rains would differ from the Free Marches. Would they come in gently, or in a torrent?

She had found a small gap not far from the keep, hardly the size of a paddock, but she thought the light was good and the ground was a nice soft soil. She had scattered grain over the rich brown, pressed it into the damp dirt with bare feet, determined that at summer’s height she would sneak Geri down to graze in the solitude they both craved.  Essa lifted her face to the cool morning air and drew in a breath. She could smell rain amid the frost. Spring was slower in the mountains. It did not burst across the world like green fire. It crept with gentle belligerence.

There was a lesson there.

She reread her sister’s letter for the dozenth time hoping for some cryptic message amid the stiff formality. The green light of the anchor held steady, flowing over the creased parchment and casting Cari’s perfect penmanship into sinister peaks and valleys. The letter was brief and very polite. She wrote on behalf of House Trevelyan, extended a number of platitudes in Andraste’s blessed name, but the letter was obviously meant for the ambassador of the Inquisition. It was not a personal missive to Essa; she had received nothing of that sort since she left the circle for the Conclave. House Trevelyan, the letter continued, was sending a tribute to the Herald. Lady Carilyna would be arriving in the spring with a modest token of the Trevelyan’s most fervent esteem and affection. One that the Bann and his family hoped the Inquisitor would remember.

Essa rolled her eyes. She knew her mother’s touch even if the hand was not hers.

Josephine had coordinated with Cari by letter over the long winter months. Essa had sent the Krem and the some of the Chargers to meet her. If all remained on schedule, Cari’s ship had made port in Jader a week ago. She would arrive at Skyhold any day, and Essa was anxious. She had not been close to her sister when they were children, but in the years that Essa had been at Ostwick, an earnest friendship had grown between them.

Of the Trevelyan children, Essa was the youngest. She might have been given to the Chantry and Cari kept as heir to the House had Essa been less of a waste, but she knew before she reached adolescence that she was of no use to her mother's piety. Of course she wasn’t the only disappointment. Her brother, the rightful heir, had eschewed his inheritance for the templar order.

Only Cari was left. She had left home before Mathieu chose faith over family. She had not served the Chantry long before their mother called her home. She had told Essa once that she almost envied her the quiet walls of the tower. Essa’s cage would have been Cari’s haven.

“Inquisitor?”

Essa hastily folded up the parchment, tucking it back into the pocket of her vest before silencing the anchor and tugging her glove back on. Her heart was pounding and she felt found out, though whether it was over the letter, her mark, or the fact that she was sitting not far enough away from the command tower, she didn’t know.

“Good morning, Commander.”

She turned toward him, unfolding from her perch within one the larger crenelations. Her legs hung down, but before she could jump he offered his hand.

Essa eyed him warily, almost teasing a smirk to his lips. He had begun to challenge her in small ways since their hilarious excuse for a chess match; she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the casual offers of physical contact. There was nothing untoward in the extension of his hand or elbow. He had certainly touched her in more familiar ways—she remembered drunkenly hanging over his shoulder with a mixture of mirth and embarrassment—and that they had been so utterly at ease in one another’s presence was just a part of their disconcerting attraction to each other. But this was different. This was… ordinary and deliberate. A hundred little touches that most people took for granted, that weren’t supposed to mean anything.  Essa wasn’t sure if she had experienced them since she was a child, and she knew that Cullen had never reached for her so easily.

“Would you rather stay where you are?” He was still waiting, so patiently, for her to take his hand and drop down from her perch.

“No.” She reached for him with her left, watching his face for any sign of hesitancy or distrust as she placed the quiet anchor between them. She wondered if he could feel the faint buzz of magic that she did. It never really went away, but she had grown accustomed to it. She had an old training injury on her arm that did much the same from time to time.

Cullen’s chin lifted slightly; he saw her counter challenge for what it was. His fingers held hers firmly as she dropped down and they released her within the exact moments of propriety. Essa frowned.

“You’re late for your rounds at the stable,” he observed.

He started walking along the battlements and Essa fell in beside him.

“I am,” she admitted. “But I’m sure the horses will get fed.”

Cullen chuckled. “They will. Dennet has done well with them.”

“He has. He will have more room and resources once the stable is complete in the valley.”

“Have you thought about what you’re going to call it?” he asked. “We can hardly mark ‘the valley’ on our maps.”

Essa smiled. In a rare feat of diplomacy she had managed to acquire the neglected holding from the Arlessa of Edgehall.

“Not yet. But I should. If I don’t choose something soon, it’s going to end up like the tavern.”

“Yes,” he mused. “I believe I’ve heard The Herald’s Hope and Essa’s Repose bandied about.”

“Ugh. That last sounds like a place to bury me.” She shuddered.  “I’ll think of something soon.” She paused for a moment, staring west across the mountains. “The fields will start to come alive in another few weeks.”

She was looking forward to it with a sort of wonder that had surprised all of them. Well, except Fin. Cullen stopped beside her, following her gaze toward the far horizon where the last vestiges of night clung to the sky.

“I never took you for a farmer.” He glanced down at her, a soft tug on the corner of his mouth that might have been a smile.

“One of my favorite duties was helping tend the tower garden,” Essa confessed. “Vegetables, fruits, herbs, and flowers. It suited me.”

She had enjoyed growing things. Tending life balanced the death she nurtured too easily.

“We shouldn't be so dependent on the lowlands,” Essa interjected before a comfortable silence could settle around them. He was making her edgy this morning and she wasn’t sure why. “The Inquisition needs more than Skyhold’s kitchen garden if we are going to feed a growing army.”

Cullen smiled. “Shouldn’t—“ he began.

Essa waved his words away. She knew what he was going to say. It was a conversation they'd had already had, and more than once.

“No, someone else shouldn’t be worrying with these details,” she replied firmly.  “Josie would use our dependency to establish ‘strong trading relationships’ in Orlais and Ferelden.  Have us survive on tributes from wealthy allies, but we both know politics are nothing if not fickle. I would not have our people hungry because I managed to insult some cossetted lord or lady who doesn’t have anything better to do than lurk around our stronghold waiting for some tidbit of gossip or divine drama!”

Cullen’s lips twitched, but he kept his tongue.

“Are you laughing at me?” Essa demanded.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her. “And your acquisition of the land was well done, even Josie was impressed with your ‘uncharacteristic display of diplomatic skill’.”

Essa laughed. “Don’t praise me yet,” she warned. “My skill will be for nothing if we can’t get crops to grow. Most of the seeds and tubers will be in next week, but it’ll be several more before the rest do. We’ve started clearing the plots and the barns are going up. At least I’ve plenty of help.”

There were a number of hands not suited to holding a sword or a bow, men and women looking to trade their time and labor for the security that the Inquisition offered. Essa had organized a considerable force in the scant time that she had been back at Skyhold. Now she waited for the first brush strokes of spring to settle bright and clear and definite upon the mountains.

“You won’t do this forever, will you?” Cullen asked, catching her off guard.

“What?” She glanced up at him, fighting a scowl.

“Lead us.”

Essa reached for his arm before she caught herself and pulled her hand away with a mild grimace of chagrin.

“We both know I don’t lead us,” Essa said, holding her hands behind her back and turning again to their walk. “I’m the muscle, the anchor, and the tie breaker when the four of you are divided, but a coin toss could see to that last.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. But they both knew that it was.

“A coin toss would be more predictable,” Essa mused, staring at a crack in the stone beneath her feet. “But I’m in no hurry to leave, if there’s use for me here.”

“You’re the Herald,” he declared softly.

Essa smiled then and finally turned to meet his gaze steadily.

“I am the Herald,” she conceded. “But as long as I die in glory or service, the Inquisition would be fine without me. Well, once Cissyface is dealt with.”

She wanted him to smile. Had deliberately chosen Sera’s preferred address for Corypheus in hope of lightening his regard.

“Essa, you do know that I…,” Cullen glanced away, swallowed nerves and tried again. “That we see you as more than a weapon.”

“I do, and I’ve had all winter to realize what hurt  _that’s_  going to cause us.”

Essa always chose her words carefully. She watched Cullen turn each one, over examining edges and leads, following fault lines to the slight quake she hadn’t managed to keep from her voice.

“Going to cause us?”

“You and me.”

She sighed and pushed one hand through her hair. The buckle on her glove snagged on the braid at her temple and Cullen reached to carefully untangle her fingers and hair. He leaned close, breath cool against her cheek. Essa stared at the column of his throat rather than watch his earnest gaze as he smoothed the knots with a gentle hand. A bright glitter of silver caught her attention as the collar of his coat shifted with his movements. She had a brief glimpse before the chain of Diar’s medallion slid back into place, Essa’s most tender wound shielded behind Cullen's armor.

“I’m a mercenary,” she said instead of a dozen things she wanted to. “That I seem to have been hired by Andraste and paid in friendship rather than gold is beside the point. If I live long enough, yes, I think I’d enjoy being a farmer, but do you really think they’ll let me?”

“Let you?” Cullen’s tone suggested that he didn’t think that ‘let’ was a word that really applied to Essa.

“All mages are apostates now,” she reminded him, as if he could forget. “But when the circles are reformed, what do you think will happen to me if I’m not the Inquisitor?”

Her eyes softened, the grey deepening like shadows and storm clouds. “You forget too easily, don’t you?”

“Forget what?”

“That I’m a mage.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

“No,” Essa agreed. “You shouldn’t.”

 


	2. Heart Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cari Trevelyan finally arrives at Skyhold. There is a bit of a stir. :)

 

The new bells of Skyhold rang out in rich silver peals across an afternoon gone pale and golden beneath spring’s persistence.  Ambassador Montilyet had carefully chosen a simple, stately tune to herald the Inquisitor’s return to the keep, and the jangling cacophony at least appeared to be an attempt to approximate the melody.  Across the war table, Cullen stared pointedly at Essa until Josie glared at him while Essa—rather valiantly—fought a spectacular smirk.

“I fail to share your amusement,” Josie admonished the lot of them with one prim glance. “Obviously there is some problem with the watch. Someone is perhaps in their cups this fine sunny day.”

“Perhaps the confusion lies with your campanologist,” Leliana replied blandly, raising one teasing brow before Josie scowled at her and hurried toward the door.

Essa giggled. “Josie, it’s fine. It isn’t as if my face is plastered everywhere.”

“And whose fault is that?” Josie returned. “You must sit for an official portrait, Inquisitor. And soon.”

“I’ll add that to my list,” Essa grumbled.

“And not at the bottom.” The tart reply was tossed over Josie’s shoulder.

Essa scowled, earning a snort of laughter from Cassandra.

“I’m sure it’s—“ Cassandra’s reassurance was interrupted, by an indecorous shout from Essa.

“There’s nothing wrong with the watch!” She nearly trampled Josie on her way out the door. “It has to be Cari!” she shouted over her shoulder.

Essa was at a dead run before she reached the door to Josie’s office. She paused anxiously, waiting for the rest of them to follow.

“I know, I know.” She did her best not to sound patronizing. “No running. Decorum. Blah blah blah.”

Cullen’s longer strides had pulled him ahead of the others. Essa felt his presence behind her just before he caught her elbow and tugged her back for Josie could precede her into the main hall.

“You will raise considerable alarm,” he informed her with admirable patience. “If all of Skyhold thinks you’re crossing the bridge and you come bursting out as if the keep is on fire, you’ll rally every templar here.”

Essa’s eyes widened and she charged after Josie, dragging Cullen along by his careful grip. “They’re going to think my sister is an abomination?!” she hissed.

Cassandra reached out, caught Essa by the other arm and tugged her away from Cullen.

“If the two of you are quite finished,” she said, narrowing her glare at both of them. “No one is going to think your sister is an abomination. The similarities between the two of you cannot possibly be so striking. “

“I’ve told you,” Essa repeated for what felt the hundredth time. “She’s the pretty version, but we favor. Heavily.”

“Be that as it may,” Cassandra sighed. “No running over our lady ambassador. Not one of us is suited to fill her shoes.”

“Sorry, Josie,” Essa called with cheerful contrition.

Josephine glanced back with a soft smile. “I understand,” she said kindly. “But you needn’t worry. All is in readiness for your sister’s arrival.”

Essa had insisted that her sister be given her quarters, and once Essa started making lists of comforts that she definitely did not need or want for herself, Josie had been only too happy to indulge her. The Inquisitor’s suite was finally being furnished as “properly befitting her station.” Essa was pretty sure Josie didn’t care why, just that Essa was no longer protesting.

“Nothing too extravagant, right?” Essa asked in a sudden fit of nerves.  Fine linens, she had told Josie once. But not the finest. She had left Josie to the details and not even thought to check over them herself. Now she wondered if she should have. “I don’t want to embarrass her. Remember, she was a chantry sister.”

Leliana laughed softly. “I would not define her tastes by time in the cloister,” she advised, looping her arm companionably through Essa’s so that she and Cassandra could both steer her through the main hall.  “Breathe, Essa.”

Essa dragged in slow steady breaths as they made their way into a press of too many people. There was a crowd before them as the bevvy of annoyances Essa called “Josie’s Courtiers” rushed outside to see whose arrival was causing such confusion.

“If someone doesn’t move them,” Essa gritted impatiently. “I’m going to.”

Leliana chuckled, and turned to make a suggestion Essa couldn’t quite hear. Cullen stepped past them and began clearing a path with a much less offensive tone of authority than Essa would have used.

They made it outside to the stairs. Cassandra released her, falling back beside Cullen, but Leliana kept a tight hold on her arm. Essa suspected it was so she wouldn’t drop down over the edge to take the shorter—and more dramatic—route to the gate. Every step was stately, unhurried. Josie had to be pleased; Essa wanted to scream.  She could hear shouts drifting up from the lower yard, knew that the signal from the bells had indeed caused some issue. She glanced back frantically to Cullen.

“My apologies,” he said gruffly to Leliana as he swept by. He caught Essa by the hand and dragged her along behind him as he made his way toward the increasing sounds of disturbance.

As Essa scrambled to keep up, she was hard-pressed not to declare her undying gratitude.

*

After more than a week of difficult travel, Cari was exhausted. She had dressed with care that morning, donning her blue velvet dress and purple coat, her hat, and tapestry scarf. They would have made a poor riding habit, but she had chosen to sit at the front of the wagon that her escort had procured for the trunks; she wasn’t her most comfortable, but she was presentable.The quiet man, Grim, rode beside her, reins light in his rough hands. Cari had found she appreciated his silences as much as the long, easy conversations she had enjoyed with the others around the campfire. She had not expected to be welcome among them, but the Chargers took their lead from their second in command, and Krem had treated her fairly and kindly once he realized that the bulk of her luggage was Essa’s books and not a her own inconsiderate extravagance.

She was grateful for their loyalties now.

Their small caravan had been stopped just outside of Skyhold’s gate by a squad of templars. The citadel was impressive, and Cari had been too busy admiring it to register the entirety of the short, worried exchange between her surrounding company.

“Get down from the wagon,” Krem ordered curtly, reaching one hand to her.

Cari eyed him in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“The bells,” Dalish answered quietly. “They thought you were the Herald.”

Cari frowned, but accepted Krem’s hand down to the bridge. “I don’t understand.”

“Stay behind me,” Krem murmured.

Commands were given without words and the Chargers fell around her in a loose defense.  Cari watched them carefully. No one had yet drawn weapons. She wasn’t sure if that was a sign that they were in more trouble or less.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Watch mistook you for her worship,” Krem replied.

“I don’t understand,” she repeated.  They favored, a lot she knew. But Cari was—

“You look enough like her to be an abomination,” Stiches offered helpfully. “Inquisition’s seen too many wearing the faces of other folks. Should have thought about that.”

“Do you really think we look so alike?” Cari demanded in disbelief.

Grim grunted.

“Not us,” Krem translated. “We know her better than most. We can see the pale skin, the softer jaw.”

"That sharp nose of yours," Dalish added drily.

Cari had a moment to blink in disconcertion before the shouting started. The templars were threatening something--she wasn't sure what--but the Chargers had taken exception to their demands. Cari stepped closer behind Krem, reached for her daggers.

“Enough!” a deep voice thundered over the din. “Templars stand down. That’s an order.”

It was obeyed instantly, and the wall of swords and plate and crimson parted.

“Your worship,” Krem called in relief.

“Are you causing trouble, lieutenant?” The cheerful voice was Essa’s, but Cari could not remember the last time she had heard her sister sound so bright and joyful.  Cari stretched up on her toes in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of her.

“I believe our lady ambassador is going to have to post some comparative likenesses for the watch,” Krem replied drolly. “Your sister caused quite the stir.”

Cari stepped around him then and the gathered crowd gasped. Murmurs became a buzz of conversation as dozens of stares darted between her and Essa. Cari lifted her chin, tilting the brim of her hat so that the sun could reach her face and she could better see through the crowd.

“Andraste’s knickers,” someone said with a low whistle. “They could be twins.”

She could see her sister’s face, but not much more. Cari watched Essa roll her eyes and turn to the warrior beside her. The thundering command, Cari guessed. His broad shoulders and armored torso blocked most of Essa’s body. Cari knew a protective stance when she saw one, even if cleverly masked by an aloof posture.

“It’s a fair likeness,” Essa groused toward one imposing arm. “But hardly so close as that.”

The man could only be the Inquisition’s commander, Cari thought. His armor was bright; the dark red and brown fur collar of his surcoat was as distinctive as the scar that caught at his upper lip as he offered Essa a fleeting smile. Commander Cullen. He was a favorite topic among the Chargers, and on her third night of travel, Cari had discovered that he and Essa were the subject of a rather bawdy betting pool. Cari had thought it meaningless, but there was something warm in his amber eyes as he turned to Essa’s complaint.

“No,” he agreed, so quietly that Cari had to read the words on his lips. “It is hardly so close as that.”

Essa’s grin was radiant as she stepped around him and began pushing through the crowd. “Are you going to let me through?” she hollered. “Or do I need to start moving people myself?”

There was good-natured laughter as the people of Skyhold—an interesting milieu of human, elf, dwarf, soldier and civilian—parted enough to let her pass. Essa strode forward and Cari was finally able to get a good look at her.

18 months, Cari thought with a wondrous stumbling halt as she waited for Essa to cross the stones. It had been eighteen months since she had set eyes on her little sister. There had been letters, of course, and Cari had dared to hope that Essa was finding some sort of place for herself in the mad, terrible events sweeping across Thedas.

The woman who stood before her was not Cari’s twin, but then, she couldn’t have been mistaken for Ester Trevelyan, Circle Enchanter either. Her hair was the same short fall, but the silken locks no longer hung in her face; Essa’s head wasn’t down and her eyes were no longer clouded and furtive. She stood with the loose-hipped fighter's stance of her youth, her arms folded easily across a lifted chest. The stubborn jut of her chin bore a new scar. It rose, pink and shining against skin gone almost to bronze from constant sun exposure.  She had twice as many freckles as she’d had when locked in that blighted tower, they scattered in new constellations across her beaming face. She was wearing what was easily the most terrible outfit Cari had ever seen.

Cari’s hands shook as she fought emotions that rarely overwhelmed her.

Essa grinned, held out her arms as if she could hold the entire keep within them.

“Welcome to Skyhold.”


	3. Home and Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In doing a bit of housekeeping on tumblr, I found this little drabble for Cari and Essa and really wanted to include it here.

Essa sat surrounded by her books, a look of reverence on her face that reminded Cari that there could be immense power in prayer and ritual, even if she had seen only empty gestures for too long.

“There aren’t words,” Essa whispered, clutching an old Antivan text to her chest. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

Cari plucked at heavy skirts that were carefully arranged despite her indecorous seat on the floor of Essa’s quarters. She glanced toward the open doors of the balcony, tracked the slight differences in the stars above the Frostbacks.

“You’ll need to find words,” Cari said, emotion making her voice colder than she intended. “Lady Trevelyan will want a formal declaration of the Inquisitor’s gratitude and affection.”

She snorted with laughter. “And she will have one. I’m sure that Josie can think of the perfect display.” Essa’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and Cari wondered what she had let show on her face. “What is it, Care?”

“It’s nothing.” Cari smiled through the lie, but Essa had always been shrewd.

“It isn’t. Tell me.”

“Fine,” Cari sighed. “But it’s silly.”

“In case no one has told you,” Essa said with a grin. “ _I’m_ silly.”

She wasn’t silly; she was joyful. Cari tried to figure out how to tell her that. “Do you ever think about your laughter?”

Essa frowned. “What about my laughter?”

“It comes so easily to you here,” Cari stared down at her hands. “You did not laugh often as a child. I cannot imagine that you did in the tower.”

She looked up with a small smile. “Are you certain you aren’t a spirit of hope inhabiting my sister’s body?”

Essa glared at her. “What would you do if I said yes?” she demanded, obviously not finding the jest amusing.

Cari laughed. “Ask how long you’ve been there. Ask if she fought you. Put a knife between your eyes and call the templars?” She shrugged. “I don’t think you’re a demon, Essa.”

“I am as I’ve been for as long as I can remember,” Essa retorted. “I’m just…”

“I guess I’m just free.” She put the book down, stared up at the painting of a long lost chevalier. “I laughed with Diar.”

Cari nodded. “You did.”

But those months had been too short, and they had ended in tragedy. Cari reached for another subject. One only slightly better.

“Do you ever miss the Marches?”

Essa shook her head, climbed to her feet with a stack of books and headed to the empty shelf.

“Not especially,” she admitted. “I miss father. I missed you, but the Marches weren’t really my home.”

“You missed me?” Cari was surprised.  They had not been particularly close as children. Too many circumstances against which the young had no defense.

“Oh, yes.” Essa placed her books on the shelf and turned back to her. “So often. Remember those nights when I was little and Greta and I would curl up in the garden below your balcony?”

Cari rolled her eyes. “I would force you both inside and into a bath.”

As far as she knew, she had been the only one to bother.

Essa smiled. “I knew you would. After we were clean, Greta and I would curl up under your bed, listening to you hum the Chant while you curled your hair.”

“You were an odd child,” Cari said roughly. She had never been able to get Essa to sleep in the bed with her.

“I was,” Essa seemed to take no offense. “But you were the sad child. When I was in the Circle, I would lie under my bed and pretend you were up on the mattress. There were so many nights that I hummed myself to sleep, hoping you were happy.”

Cari couldn’t face the sincerity in Essa’s eyes.  She stared out at the night, into the contradictions of their shared past, yearning for a home neither of them had known. “You were locked in a tower, Essa. You should have had greater concerns than my happiness.”

“No,” Essa whispered. “Everyone else I loved was beyond me. I could neither reach nor help them. But you, I helped you, and you were back there, in that house, with that same weight…and without Greta or me to hear the tears in your voice as you sang of a home you couldn’t find.”

Tears slid down Cari’s cheeks and she stared blindly into the space between them. “You couldn’t have—?”

“Couldn’t have what?” Essa asked. “Couldn’t have heard every subtle insult, every polite disapproval? No one cares what they say in front of servants or hounds, Care. I heard plenty. What do you think called us to your windows, but your heartbreak? You don’t think that my showing up on the worst nights was a coincidence did you?”

Cari’s gaze jerked back to Essa too stunned to continue her meager attempts at avoidance. “You were so young,” she whispered.

“So were you,” Essa returned. “And I knew that of the two of us, I was better off.” She stomped back to angrily shelve another armful of books. “No, I don’t miss the Marches. If I was ever homesick, it was for one I hadn’t found yet.”

“’Hadn’t’?” Cari asked quietly.

“I’m working on it,” Essa returned. “And there will always be a place for you at my hearth.” She slammed another book into place. “Always, Carilyna.”


	4. Honorable Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essa+politics=disaster?

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and tried to focus past the soft rise and fall of the four women’s voices to the actual words they were saying. He did not usually find himself so easily distracted, but the afternoon meeting had stretched far past the evening meal and into the night. The low light combined with the long hours of frustrating negotiation were combining into twice his usual headache.

“So, I’ll leave at the end of the week.” Essa paced listlessly around the war table.  She wasn’t faring much better than he was.

As her sister settled into Skyhold, Essa had lost what little time she usually had to herself. There had been too much to cover today, and the meeting had stolen what time she generally reserved for her horses. It was hard to believe that she had only been back at Skyhold for three weeks; they were about to send her out again.

“For which objective?” Cassandra asked.

After following leads from the Champion of Kirkwall, Essa had found Hawke’s Warden friend. The situation with the Wardens was worse than any of them had imagined. But this was not the only crisis currently needing the Inquisitor’s attention. Leliana’s people had been hard at work over the winter gathering Calpernia’s secrets like rare ore. The Shrine of Dumat waited.

Essa paused and turned back to scowl at the map, as if it had had asked the question rather than Cassandra. “Shorter trip to the shrine,” she grumbled after several minutes. “Can make it there and back in three weeks if I take a light party and our fastest, long distance horses.”

Cullen made a note on the parchment before him, told himself that he could wait until she had left to start worrying, if that was what he really felt he needed to do. It was pointless, and he tried not to waste precious time on things he could not change.

“We will send scouts to the Western Approach,” Leliana decided. “There will be a forward camp established and a stack of reports waiting for your return.”

“My Lady Nightingale is too kind,” Essa retorted blandly, earning a few smiles. She leaned down to make her own notes.  “Is there anything else?”

“There is,” Josie began, clearing her throat delicately when they all turned to her. “We still have one matter that needs your attention before you leave for the shrine, Inquisitor.”

Essa frowned, eyes roaming the board to see what she might have missed. Josie shot Cullen a pleading look and he sighed. They had already put the matter off longer than they should have.

“The templar who attacked you,” Cullen began, taking pity on Josie and drawing what he knew would soon be Essa’s ire. “He needs to be dealt with.”

She turned slowly from the map, her attention landing on him in a wide, unblinking stare.

“What do you mean ‘dealt with’?” Essa’s voice was barely above a murmur. “I thought that you, Ser Barris, and Cassandra where going to—“ She paused, and Cullen watched a countless thoughts move like smoke across her gaze. Essa glanced away. “—come to a decision that would not jeopardize our alliance with the templars.”

Cassandra grunted before Cullen could answer. “Ser Barris has remanded him to the Inquisition.”

“Well you can remand him right back,” Essa returned sharply.

She fell silent for too many breaths. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck again. He had gotten far too comfortable in her companionship lately. How could he have forgotten the temper of which she so often warned them? He watched her expression shift from weariness to furious disbelief.

“Wait.” Essa reached up, cracked her jaw. Cullen had the fleeting thought that this might be the angriest they had ever seen her. Fire sparked in her eyes, white beneath the blue and the grey. “Has that man been in the dungeon all winter?”

When no one answered, Essa turned abruptly and headed for the door. Cassandra moved to intercept her and the expression on Essa’s face would have withered her precious herbs in their beds.

“Inquisitor.”

Cullen called her back, drew her attention with the same challenging presence he used to draw threat on the battlefield. He caught Cassandra’s eye, flicked his stare sharply to the left. Maker’s breath, he thought. Move away from her off hand. The last thing any of them needed was for Essa to feel trapped. He hid a sigh of relief when Cassandra moved off.

“We conducted a thorough investigation into the ranks,” Cullen continued calmly. “Josin had only a small number of supporters, but none that condoned outright violence against you. By all appearances, he lost their loyalty when he attacked you. Sera and Sister Leliana have had their ears to the ground for some time.”

“And we will keep them there,” Leliana added.

Essa glared at the center of Cullen’s chest. She lifted her hand and he waited for her to push him away. He was standing too close and they both knew it, but he couldn’t seem to take a step back.

She pinched the bridge of her nose instead. “And Josin.” She drew in a slow breath. “Has been locked up for the past four months?”

“Awaiting the Inquisitor’s judgment,” Josie explained.

Essa rubbed her eyes. “My what?” she asked quietly.

“You will judge him publicly,” Cassandra left no room for argument.

Essa’s mouth pressed into a hard line as she moved past Cullen. She surprised them all when she simply asked, “Why wasn’t I informed of this the moment I returned?”

“There were,” Josie cleared her throat delicately. “Other matters that held the Inquisitor’s attention.”

Essa sighed. “Alright. I want to see the reports.”

“I’ll…have them sent to your desk.” None of them seemed quite as shocked by Essa's cooperation as the ambassador.

Essa nodded. “We’ll see to it in the morning.” It was impossible to mistake the hard edge of dismissal in her voice. “I think we’ve done just about all we can for today. I would like a few moments with the map.”

She paced back to the table and pointedly ignored them until Cassandra shrugged and they all began exiting the room. Cullen was looking forward to a warm meal, a relaxing drink, and the solitude of his tower with more fervor than he could remember when Essa called him back.

“Commander, a word?”

Leliana raised one perfectly arched brow. She could convey entire monologues with that smooth red wing. Cullen did his best to appear as if he weren’t ignoring her while resolutely doing exactly that. He slipped back into the war room as Cassandra was closing the door behind Leliana, Josephine, and herself.

“Inquisitor.”

Essa didn’t look up as Cullen resumed his usual position across the table from her. He stood with deliberate ease, watching her carefully, noting all the little ways she dissembled. She hadn’t been quite herself today, clad in her uniform as well as the boots that she hated. She had taken the usual braids from her hair, including the one twined with yellow ribbon that Sera had plaited the evening before. As Essa leaned over the map of Ferelden, she wore the Inquisitor more conspicuously than he had ever seen her.

Cullen needed to know why. He might have admired her dedication, but he was surprised to realize how much he disliked the disguise. She felt false, like a poor painting of herself brought to life, and over the day that painting had faded.

“When I acquired the valley from the Arlessa of Edgehall,” Essa began without preamble. “I was granted an additional holding northwest of Haven.”

Cullen chose not to waste energy he didn’t have expressing useless surprise. He reached for a bottle of wine left from their neglected lunch and poured himself a drink that he knew was not going to be strong enough.

“You failed to mention this earlier.”

“I did.” Essa walked two fingers across the map, drew a careful circle with the tip of one. She lifted her gaze to make certain he tracked the perimeter.

“Why wait?” Cullen asked, offering her a goblet.

“Because,” Essa answered carefully as she leaned across the map to take the heavy cup from him. “I had the land granted to you.”

“You what?!”

Disbelief made Cullen’s voice louder than usual. Essa lunged forward to take the wine bottle from his hand before he dropped it.

“You did what?” Cullen repeated in a more moderate tone.

She placed the bottle on the map, straightening what markers her hasty save had managed to disrupt. Maker, preserve him! Surely she was joking. Cullen couldn’t claim to fully understand the intricacies of Essa’s sense of humor, but he did know that there were occasions when it was nearly as twisted as Sera’s.

“You can refuse it, of course,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “That’s why I wanted to speak with you privately, to give you the chance. But you were my first choice.”

Cullen dammed his thoughts behind several fortifying gulps of wine. Essa pulled a scroll case from the leather messenger bag she often brought to meetings.

“Here.” She walked around the table towards him, and Cullen tried not to see a portent in her tired eyes. “All the legalities are there. Read them over. Tell me what you think. I brokered the agreements with the Queen of Ferelden myself.”

Oh, Josie was going to love that. Cullen bit back a groan, wondering how on earth they were going to untangle the diplomatic knots Essa had tied around them. How had she managed to get into this much trouble over the course of a single winter?

“And did you disclose to the Queen that you would be handing over this holding to me?” Cullen forced his tone as flat as he could make it.

“I didn’t have to,” Essa shrugged.

“You didn’t—?”

Cullen’s headache was reaching stabbing levels he’d not experienced in months. He reached to rub the back of his neck before he realized it was the third time since their meeting had begun to break up.

“Oh! Cullen, I’m sorry!” her exclamation was quiet. “I should have thought—“

She reached for him then stopped with a frustrated grimace. “I know that I have to ask permission. I’m trying to decide whether ‘may I help?’ or “would you like me to help?” is the most likely phrase to get you to answer yes.”

Cullen glowered down at her, his emotions in such a tumult he couldn’t decide if he should laugh or snarl. He knew he needed to pray.  He didn’t think he had the strength of patience for this tonight.

“No.” Cullen took a step away.

Essa’s face fell and Cullen wished he could take the refusal back.

“We need to talk this through. No distractions.”

From the look in her eyes, his explanation had only made the situation worse. She stomped back, threw her glove to the table with a sharp slap of supple leather.

“Fine,” Essa snapped. “Then stop staring at me as if I’ve gone mad."

She took an angry gulp from her goblet, wiped her mouth on the back of one glove in a tiny act of rebellion that would have been less wasted on Josephine. "Don't worry," she snarked. "I’ll go slowly so that you can follow along.”

Cullen bit the side of his tongue to keep from speaking as she stalked back around the table.

“It wouldn’t be prudent for such a large holding to go to the Inquisition,” Essa informed him, shoving one hand through her hair. “I may not enjoy politics, but I’m not an idiot. If Ferelden didn’t get nervous about such a claim, Orlais probably would. The Arlessa has been fighting for some time to secure her title. I…dispatched some of her obstacles this winter, for which the Crown was unofficially able to extend gratitude. The Arlessa is a devoted supporter of the Chantry. She rewarded Andraste’s Herald more richly than I was comfortable with. When I tried to refuse the second parcel of land, she suggested I cede the lowland claim to the templars. I agreed, but old habits…”

She shrugged, finally turning back to face him. “It’s hard to trust them completely.”

“You must forgive me, Inquisitor.” Cullen took a breath, forced his tone even; the tension behind his eyes was making his vision blurry. “While I understand some of your logic, I fail to see why you would turn such a claim over to the leader of the Inquisition’s military. It can’t be because of my vast experience managing a freeholding.”

She watched him too closely. “Commander, read this aloud, please.” She pushed one of her notes toward the center of the table and he knew she had caught him. She was too perceptive for their own good.

“Cullen, please,” she whispered when he refused to answer. “For my sake if not yours. I will order you to a healer if I have to, and you’ll hate me.”

He knew that he was being stubborn, but some days Cullen felt like stubbornness was all he had.

“It’s just a headache,” he told her. “I can endure it.”

“But you don’t have to.” Essa tipped her head to one side and regarded him quizzically. “Or is this some sort of penance?”

This was usually the type of night that he went to the training yard and found a dummy to hit. Cullen set his goblet down with infinite deliberateness. Maybe his pain was his penance, and maybe Essa had been sent to teach them all some humility. Cullen didn’t claim to know the Maker’s will on his best days, but right now he was too tired to fight both of them.

“Do as you will.”

Cullen closed his eyes and bowed his head. He had a moment to wonder if he should have been clearer in his surrender. He could have been just as easily conceding to her ridiculous plan.

“Thank you.” Her gratitude was a rushing exhale, as if his pain were the greatest weight of all that she held.

Essa’s steps grew louder as she drew close to him and Cullen suspected the sound was for his benefit. He felt the warmth of her a breath before her scent teased around him, citrus and leather and good, rich earth. Her hand settled on the back of his neck with a firm, certain pressure. He had watched her soothe more than one over-wrought horse with that same touch.

“Essa…”

“Shh…” she hushed him, and Cullen was shocked to hear a quaver in her voice. “I know we’re fighting. I know that I’ve bungled something and it’s likely to become worse for the discussing of it. You can yell at me when your own voice doesn’t cause your head to pound. I even promise to yell back if it’ll make you feel better.”

Her fingers tunneled into his hair, scraping lightly over his scalp. She took a step still closer, crowding into his space until he could think of nothing but pressing forward in return. Waves of healing eased the muscles in his neck and jaw. It wasn’t until his back teeth unclenched that Cullen realized he’d been holding them together.

“Better?”

He nodded slowly and nearly jumped back when his forehead brushed the top of her head. He had known she was close, but not quite that close.

“Be still,” she scolded lightly. Cullen opened his eyes to see a smile flit briefly across her lips. Her eyes were closed. He could see webs of blue crackling across her eyelids and the smudged shadows of fatigue beneath the dark crescents of her lashes.

“Tell me about the holding,” he ordered gruffly.

Essa licked her lips, chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before finally speaking into the too quiet room.

“It’s good land.” The low words brushed against his neck and Cullen closed his eyes again in a self-preservation. “There are several farms waiting to be reclaimed by people who have already taken refuge within our walls. I closed a rift there a month ago, so it shouldn’t take much to secure. There’s an old keep. Mostly ruins, and nothing so grand as Skyhold, but the foundation is still good. It could be rebuilt, house the Order. We have so many in the field simply because we can’t house them all here comfortably.”

Her logic there was sound enough, but nothing about politics was ever that simple. Not this close to the Frostbacks.

Essa swayed slightly and Cullen’s hands found her waist as naturally as they reached for prayer. He didn’t trust his voice, but: “Don’t tax your mana,” he said, more roughly than he intended.

“Not my mana,” she admitted ruefully, eyes still tightly closed. “By the Mabari, it feels good to stand with you like this.”

He was going to kiss her, if she didn’t step away from him soon.

“How’s your head?” Essa asked shakily.

“Better. Thank you.”

“Right then.” She sighed. “We should probably go back to fighting.”


	5. Magefire

Cari woke with the sudden certainty that something was wrong. She lay still, eyes straining against the darkness of the large canopied bed she doubted very seriously her sister had ever slept in. The disturbance wasn’t coming from inside the spacious quarters set aside for the Inquisitor, but there was a muffled noise just beyond that Cari couldn’t quite locate. She slipped quietly from the bed covers, dressed quickly in dark leggings, tunic, and soft soled shoes before twisting the long braid of her hair into a coil at the back of her neck.  A glance at the water clock revealed an hour late enough that most of the keep should have been abed. Cari moved around the room in silence, trying to get closer to the source of the sound.

Her search took her down along the stairs, and when she was finally close enough to get a general idea of what had dragged her from rest, she couldn’t help but sigh.

She would know her sister’s temper anywhere, and even from the limited snatches of ire drifting up from the war room, Cari knew that whoever had inspired Essa’s shouting was in for a night of suffering. _I don’t imagine there is a future for mages_ the angry lecture trailed off, picked back up with _several possible outcomes to this war that don’t include templar control_. Cari shook her head. _I am not giving this holding to the templars!_ She didn’t know who Essa was fighting with, but she didn’t like her suspicion. She made her way out into the main hall, found it blessedly empty but for a few silent guards. She watched them blink when they saw her face, but otherwise, shock was absent. They were all slowly getting used to how much she and Essa favored. Cari had found that wardrobe and lighting mattered greatly to everyone’s comfort. Until now, she had made a point of only wearing dresses.

Cari slipped into Josephine’s office, unsurprised to find it unoccupied, the hearth cold. Essa had warned her that the meeting might run especially late. Cari hadn’t realized just quite how late. She had spent the evening reading a stack of Essa’s old reports. She still couldn’t quite believe the adventures her sister had been having, though she was thankful for them.  It was no wonder Essa looked as well as she did. She had spent most the past year sleeping outside.

“Should we—?” The question was quiet as it drifted through four inches of sturdy oak.

Cari paused, hand on the door between Josephine’s office and the hall that led to the war room.  She pressed her ear to the wood and waited.

“I do not know,” Cassandra answered with a grunt. “They are unlikely to kill each other.”

“I’ve never heard the Inquisitor this angry.” Josephine did not seem to share Cassandra’s faith. “And the Commander…”

Cari had heard enough. She opened the door without knocking and favored each of Essa’s advisors with a stare that had withered the most belligerent children at the chantry.

“You should know,” she said sweeping into the hallway. “That there is a spot along the stairs leading to the Inquisitor’s quarters where one can stand and hear anything that is shouted in the war room.”

She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

“Really?” Leliana asked lightly.

Cari wasn’t fooled by her feigned nonchalance. “Yes,” she told the spymaster. “Though it must be shouted, and certain registers are more difficult to hear. I could make out much more of my sister’s side of the conversation.”

The last word was tinged with doubtful emphasis. Leliana blanched. “I will see to this breach myself,” she said, nodding slightly. “Thank you for the information, Lady Trevelyan.”

“How much did you hear?” Josie asked, dark eyes sparking with curiosity as Leliana exited. 

She was the friendliest of Essa’s advisors. Cari was not certain of the others, but she and Lady Montilyet had shared tea on more than one occasion since Cari arrived at Skyhold. She found that she liked the ambassador very much, though she was hesitant to trust anyone so quickly.

“Enough,” Cari returned. “But not as much as I would have liked. I was awoken by my sister’s shouts. Is there a reason no one has put a stop to…” she waved one hand at the war room door. “Whatever that is?”

“The Commander and the Inquisitor are—“ Josephine began delicately.

“Are having a private discussion,” Cassandra interjected. “It is none of our business.”

Cari raised one brow at the Seeker. “Then why were you three lurking in the hallway?”

Cassandra glanced back toward the door.  “Fire watch,” she said in bored tone.

Cari’s eyes widened and Josephine’s eyes narrowed at Cassandra. “It is not so bad as that,” she assured Cari quickly. “The Inquisitor has a very…interesting working relationship with Commander Cullen.”

“I see.”

The door to the war room shook with sudden impact.

“No,” Cari said shaking her head. “I don’t see. And that’s gone on long enough.”

Before either woman could stop her, Cari yanked open the door.

*

“So you’ll consider it?” Essa asked so hopefully that Cullen wanted to shake her.

They had been arguing for what seemed hours now, though he knew that it could not have been so long. Maker’s breath! The woman was stubborn.

“No,” Cullen said slowly.

“Why not?!” Essa all but shouted.

She was on her feet, stalking across the war room in furious strides. Cullen threw his hands up in exasperation.

“If you’re going to give the land to the Order anonymously and have the Inquisition represent this mysterious patron’s interests,” he argued. “Then I don’t see why the landholder can’t be  _you_.”

“Because I,” Essa muttered through gritted teeth. “Am much more likely to do something that gets me killed in the near future.”

For a moment he couldn’t speak. That her words were true offered no comfort. Cullen ran one hand through his hair, but before he could offer even a hapless response she was ranting again.

“Essa, you have to see—” he tried helplessly.

“Look,” she interrupted. “I know how you feel about nobility, but it’s not like we’re going to start calling you Arl Rutherford. And you’re certainly not going to become any more arrogant than you are now just because—“

Enough.

“Inquisitor.”

Essa fell silent, eyes narrowing. Cullen wished he knew what she heard in his voice.

“You do not, in fact, know how I feel about nobility.” He lowered his voice. Chose his words with care, spoke as reasonably as he could. “Nor do you seem to understand why I would be at all reluctant to suddenly have a small freeholding of my former brothers and sisters in arms placed in my possession without my feelings being considered.”

Her scowl became mutinous as he closed the distance between them. “I am considering them right now!” she hissed angrily.

Dull splotches of color spread from her cheeks to her neck. Essa glared at him, then spun toward one of the windows. She stood with her back to him, fist high up on the wall, head down, spine a rigid line as discord moved into the late hour. Her hair shifted forward, hid her face in mink shadows as she drew in a slow deliberate breath before releasing it on a long exhale.

“Essa—“

Cullen found himself staring at the nape of her neck wondering…well he wasn’t prepared to admit what he was wondering, and he was even less prepared for what her reaction might be if she knew. In anyone else the hostile stance and exhausted posture would have indicated weakness, but Cullen saw a threat rather than vulnerability.

“Essa,” Cullen repeated calmly. He stepped around her, put his back to the wall beside her, and moving into her space. “Your intentions are admirable.”

“And  _you_  can be as patronizing as our lady ambassador,” she returned just as serenely. “But not nearly as sweet with it.”

He wasn’t foolish enough to think she was any less frustrated than he was. Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Have you considered who you would like to appoint as steward?” he asked quietly. “Or should I add this to my current list of duties.”

She took the calm criticism as he anticipated. Essa’s mouth opened, closed. Opened again. Cullen saw panic in her eyes.

“I thought—With you already—I mean—“ She stumbled away from him with a colorful mixture of multilingual profanity.

Cullen waited.

“I didn’t think I would be saddling you with that much more,” she admitted, a mulish glint warring with uncertainty in her eyes. “We were already trying to find a new location for the Order. They weren’t going to be able to stay at Skyhold indefinitely.”

Cullen folded his arms and waited, letting her flounder as he watched consequences catch up to intention. He waited until her hands turned to fists.

“Start simply,” he relented. “Tell me what you are hoping to accomplish with all of this.”

“I want,” Essa began, spinning away from him. “For those who have been displaced by the rifts to be able to go home. I  _want_  the templars to rebuild the keep and have a place of their own.”

She paced in tense, clipped strides. Every footfall seemed only to increase her frustration.

“I want you, Barris, and Cassandra to continue the very good work you’ve been doing with the Order until a new Divine is chosen.”

She spun on her heel, stormed back toward him. “But at the end of the day, I want to know that when I die, someone I trust holds that claim!”

Essa’s toes were far too close to his by the time her tirade ended. The heat of her temper hit Cullen in a blast of warm air. Volatile, he thought. She was too blighted volatile. The last few weeks had lulled him into a false sense of ease. They did not differ on opinion often. He had forgotten that when they did it was spectacular.

Cullen caught her firmly by the upper arms. Later, he would swear he had every intention of stepping her carefully away from him.

“Why would a mage care so much about what happens to the templars?” The question was out before he registered the words that fell into the scant space between them.

Essa’s body was a taut line before he finished speaking; Cullen could feel the tension thrumming beneath his grasp, wanted desperately to take back the bitterness he’d heard in his own voice.

“Because they’ve been in a cage all their lives,” Essa hissed. “I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

She shook her head, confusion writ into the faint lines around her eyes. “Do you know what happens, Commander, to a creature that has lived its whole life in captivity only to be suddenly thrown out on its own?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer. “It starves. Slowly. And once it’s hungry enough and afraid enough it destroys everything that crosses its path. Even those who might want to help it.”

“By putting it in another cage,” Cullen said roughly.

“By giving it a home,” Essa returned.

Cullen let her go so quickly that she stumbled. He would have felt guilty, but for the flash in her eyes.  Essa was beautiful when she rallied.

“And if rehabilitation fails,” she continued in a voice he hardly knew. “You put it down.”

“That is ENOUGH!”

 *

Cari’s reprimand blasted Essa back two and a half decades. Suddenly she was six years old again, fighting with Mathieu over his treatment of a scullery maid. She was grateful. She could still feel her heart hammering in her chest, still feel Cullen’s hands on her arms. Andraste take her, she had been all but blinded by how much she wanted him. Even when she wanted to punch him.

Maybe especially because she wanted to punch him.

Essa dragged her gaze from the anger still simmering in the tawny depths of Cullen’s eyes to where her sister stood imperiously in the doorway of the war room. Cari’s hand was still on the door’s edge, her eyes narrowed in a scowl that would have infuriated their mother. A proper lady did not show her temper. Essa grinned, felt some of the tension in her chest ease.

“Cari—“ Her sister held up one hand and Essa shook her head. “No. You don’t get to order me about anymore.”

No matter how wonderful it was to see the storm of violent energy in place of Cari’s usual implacable calm.

“Someone needs to,” Cari snapped. “Did you hear the words that just came out of your mouth, Essa Trevelyan? Or would you not have caught up with them until—“

Cari glanced sharply at Cullen. “There was violence between the two of you.”

Essa moved then, placing herself between her sister’s glare and Cullen with a protectiveness that did not go unnoticed by anyone. Essa’s hope that she wasn’t blushing was utterly dashed when she caught Cassandra’s smirk as the Seeker stepped past Cari into the room. Josie trailed after her, dark eyes shrewd and assessing.

“There would not have been violence between us,” Essa sighed, reaching up to rub her temple. She could feel Cullen standing behind her, a warmer presence than usual, but still cooler than she. She should take a step forward, she knew. They were too close to touching and she was far too tempted to simply lean back against him. “And what are you doing down here anyway? You should be asleep.”

“It’s difficult to sleep,” Cari replied blandly. “When your shouting wakes me up.”

“What?” Essa stared up at the ceiling toward her quarters in alarm before turning to Josie.

“Sister Leliana is looking into it now,” she said, stepping past Cari into the room. “Likely it is an old air shaft or cracks in the mortar. Some sort of lingering structural anomaly. We will see that it is taken care of.”

Essa nodded. “Thank you.” She turned back to her sister. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” Cari returned. “You are fortunate that you don’t keep a lover. Anyone with regular access to your quarters would be a security risk.”

“We are.” Josie agreed before Essa could fire some lame retort at her sister. “Though you said that you would not have heard anything without the discussion becoming so heated.”

Josie leveled a concerned stare over Essa’s head. “And I gather from this most recent incident, that the two of you have need of my diplomatic services.”

“Yes,” Cari affirmed before either Essa or Cullen could refuse. Essa glared at her. “And at the risk of ending what was truly an inspiring game of ‘not me’, I would like to volunteer.”

“For what?” Cullen asked, speaking for the first time since Cari stormed into the war room.

“For the holding.”

The full meaning of Cari’s offer hit Essa all at once.  “Really?” she whispered. “You’ve decided to stay?”

“I have.”

Essa closed her eyes, blinking back tears as relief broke, sudden and brilliant as a fallen barrier.  She had prayed, heretic that she was, she had prayed to the Maker that Cari wouldn’t return home. She rocked slightly on her feet.

“I have you.”

Cullen’s assurance was murmured too softly for anyone else to hear. His hand pressed, warm and solid against the small of Essa’s back before his fingers caught the back of her tunic and held on. She wanted to reach back for him, twine her fingers with his and cling.

“But,” Cari continued. “I’m going to need your help, Commander. So I wouldn’t get too comfortable.”

Essa covered her mouth with one hand to keep from giggling.

“If you laugh…” Cullen’s open-ended threat was soft with menace before he raised his voice enough to be heard by more than Essa. “I would be honored, Lady Trevelyan.”


	6. Apostate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's fluff in here!

Essa sat with her legs thrust through the rails of her balcony, face pressed between the uprights, feet dangling above the mountain far below. She dragged in a long gulp of cool air, held it in her chest until it warmed, diminished, lay like a small, aching death trapped in her lungs, before releasing it on coarse exhale. Her next breath was slower, calmer, but her heart was still pounding.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen’s voice drifted from the open doorway a beat behind his polite knock.

“The Inquisitor isn’t here right now,” Essa retorted. “Only a very nervous apostate who is about to publicly judge a templar for assaulting her.”

Cullen chuckled. “Then may a former templar join you?” he asked.

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Only if you haven’t come to tell me that Josin deserves to be executed for his crimes. I’ve heard that one already and I’m not particularly happy with it.”

“No, that’s not what I think at all.”

Essa sighed. “Thank the Maker. Please, Commander, be welcome.”

When he didn’t step out onto the balcony, Essa smiled. “Even better,” she corrected herself, smile widening to a grin that she knew was far too open. “Cullen.”

His eyes were bright, as warm and golden as the sun that was just climbing above the mountains. They crinkled at the corners, betraying the stern line of his lips. It was, she had realized, his default expression. Cullen forgot to smile, just as he often forgot to eat, to sleep, to forgive himself for his imperfections. He worked too hard, but then, the same had been said of all of them at one point or another.

“How are you holding up?” he asked. Cullen settled down on the cool stone beside her,  his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned back against the rail, eyes trained on the open door.

“I’m a mess,” Essa replied, giving him only the truth. “But I’ll endure, even if it is a terrible idea. I should not be judging anyone publicly.”

“Publicly?”

Essa grimaced. She should have known he would pick up on the distinction.

“Publicly,” she repeated. “The Spectacle of Justice is not the same as justice and we both know it. Justice I’m marginally comfortable with. I’ve been prepared to look the Maker in the eye over that for quite some time now, but the grand drama of a public judgment…? Not so much.”

She leaned her shoulder into the solid press of his, comforted as much by the hard resistance of his armor as his presence. These were the first moments they’d had alone since their argument over the freeholding.

“I’m glad that Josie and Cari have found a solution that works for everyone,” she said quietly. “And I’ll apologize for some of the shouting, but not for my intention.”

Cullen smiled. “I’ll apologize for some of the shouting as well,” he conceded. “But not for my resistence.”

Essa nodded. “I’m alright with that. Are you?”

He chuckled, turned to meet her questioning gaze. “I am. We don’t have to see eye to eye on everything.”

Essa laughed. “Good thing too.”

They sat in silence. Essa watched dawn streak rose and gold and pumpkin over the blue-white snow. She took in another long, slow breath. Held it until she was forced to let go with a shudder.

“You will be fine,” Cullen assured her. “You are already mostly certain on what you’re going to do.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

She grinned. “You’re right.” Essa stretched her arms out in front of her, laced her fingers together and cracked her knuckles. “Hopefully I can walk from my quarters to that stupid throne without my legs giving out.”

“One foot in the front of the other, soldier.” He elbowed her and Essa’s grin became a laugh.

“Yes, ser. And when it’s over, I’m getting out of this stupid uniform, and I’m not putting it back on for a month.”

She waited for a chuckle. At the least a smirk, but Cullen gave her neither. Essa felt his gaze moving over her face.

“I’ve been thinking about that—“

“About me out of my uniform,” she quipped, suddenly nervous.

“Yes.”

It was the very last answer Essa had been expecting. She turned so sharply toward him that she nearly wrenched her arms in the balcony rails.

“What?”

Cullen smirked. “It isn’t often someone surprises you is it?” he asked. “You use forthrightness as a weapon. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Essa gaped at him as she began disentangling her arms and legs from the stone.  Cullen caught her hand before she could erupt to her feet.

“Have your feelings changed?” he asked.

“About you?” she sputtered. “No, but—“

She stared at his hand, torn between willing him to release her and praying that he wouldn’t.

“I thought we agreed that anything between us was impossible.”

“Did we?” he asked calmly. “I recall that we agreed anything more between us would be difficult.”

He turned her hand over in his. Essa knelt, trapped and hapless as Cullen slowly lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss in the center of her palm. His lips were cool. They parted against her skin just enough to stall her breath in anticipation of more.

“I—“ Essa blinked down at him. “Cullen—I don’t even know what I could offer you.”

It was his teeth, not his tongue that next made contact with her flesh. She jumped and he smiled against her skin, pressed another kiss before he let her go.

“I’m not either,” he admitted. “I’m not asking you to bed, Essa. Although I find I enjoy  _thinking_  about asking you to bed.”

“Who are you?” she demanded, clutching her hand to her heart before she caught the motion for what it was. She stood, hands on her hips as she glared down at him. “And what have you done with my blushing commander?”

He climbed to his feet with a smile. “I think we’ve passed the blushing stage, don’t you?”

“ _I_ haven’t!” Essa hissed.

“Think about what you want,” he said. “And when you’re certain, come tell me. There’s a lot of work ahead, whatever we find, but I’m interested.”

Essa watched him leave. The man could be insufferable. She was almost positive even his walk was smug.

“You shouldn’t be!” she shouted after him.

His laughter drifted back from inside her quarters. “Maybe not,” he called. “I don’t care.”

*

Part of her wondered if Cullen had distracted her on purpose. She could hardly focus enough on Josin’s judgment to worry about it, still too distracted by the memory of Cullen’s lips on her palm. The whisper of scruff against her fingers. She slumped on the Inquisitor’s throne in what she could only hope was self-assured posture. The monstrous thing did not allow for a more comfortable or more dignified pose. She would have to see about replacing it with something sensible if this sort of drama were to continue.

Josephine stood on her right, Cullen on her left. In the crowd gathered before her, Essa could pick out only her sister. Cari smiled slightly, chin lifted in encouragement. Essa took a breath, and nodded to Cullen that she was ready to begin.

“Knight-Corporal Josin, Inquisitor,” Cullen paced forward to address the hall. “He awaits judgment for assaulting the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, this past autumn. As this breach of honor was directed at you personally, the Order has remanded him to the Inquisition for sentencing.”

There was a collective gasp from some of the assembled nobles. Essa tried valiantly not to roll her eyes. She caught a hint of a smirk as Cullen turned back toward the throne. Josin was brought forward, flanked by templar guards, and placed upon his knees before her. Essa steepled her fingers, stared at her attacker over her hands.

“Did you?” she asked him.

There was a murmur of confusion from Josephine and no small number of spectators. Essa ignored them.

“Did I what?” Josin asked finally looking up at her.

“Did you attack Andraste’s Herald?” Essa clarified.

The man’s eyes narrowed. The months in a cell had not been as unkind to him as Essa feared. She was surprised to see comprehension dawn behind his distrust.

“I attacked an apostate mage,” he bit out. “One I believed to be responsible for the murder of a fellow templar.”

Josephine shot Essa a look of alarm. Essa shook her head slightly. She wasn’t playing for Josie or the crowd. Not today. She nodded once at Josin.

“And are you still determined that this apostate face punishment for a crime you cannot prove?”

Josin stared at the floor a moment. “No.”

“Why not?”

The man slowly lifted his gaze back to her. Essa was relieved when he did not waver.

“Because your death is not worth my service,” Josin declared with bitter conviction. “Nor yours. If Andraste has seen fit to use you for the Maker’s will, who am I to gainsay the Maker’s Bride?”

“Alright,” Essa nodded once, satisfied. “You spent four months beneath Skyhold, Ser Josin, and for an attack far less consequential than those I face regularly, I am content to declare your time served.”

She tried to ignore the buzz of reply that swept through her unwanted audience. Cullen scowled at those gathered and silence was quickly regained.

Essa continued. “But the threat to me was not nearly as severe as the threat that your impulse presented to the Templar Order and its recent alliance. Let them judge you. I will abide by whatever your peers decide.”

“They will not execute me,” Josin warned her tersely.

Essa smiled. “If I wanted you executed, Knight-Corporal, I would have done so myself. The Order has been recently granted a holding in western Ferelden. Its people have been displaced, first by the Blight, then by rifts and demons. I closed the final rift a month ago. There is much work to be done there, both before and after the people return. I have suggested to Ser Barris that you be among the first templars sent. We do not need more deaths in this war. We need lives of continued service.”

Josin gaped at her. Essa hoped the man found some comfort in that—save for Cullen—everyone else gathered was doing much the same.  Ser Barris stepped forward quickly to remove Josin’s bonds and Essa rose, tuning out the noise of the hall as Josie and Cullen began dismissing the crowd.

“Oh, and Ser Josin?”

Barris paused and Josin looked up in askance. Essa stepped close, made a small motion with her chin toward Cari.

“That’s my sister,” she informed him quietly. “I would hate for there to be any sort of confusion.”

“Your brother was fond of Carilyna,” Josin replied gruffly. “There wouldn’t be. But I take your meaning. Neither of you have anything else to fear from me.”

“Thank you,” Essa nodded. “Ser Barris.”

She stood at the front of the hall, watching as it was cleared, hoping she had done the right thing. She didn’t look to her advisors, didn’t want to know if her judgment had met with approval. She suspected that it hadn’t, but she didn’t regret her choice.

 _They don’t understand, but I do,_ Compassion’s voice drifted through her mind, a breath of reassurance.   _Only hate grows in hate. You give him hope._

_Thank you, Cole._

*

“Is there anything else you need?”

Cullen knew it was a wasted question. Essa excelled at missions. She enjoyed the work—the wandering, the fighting, the sleeping on the dirt—more than any of them, and she had been ready to leave since Josin’s judgment. She had been in Skyhold for nearly a month now, and the time had gone both too quickly and too slowly.

“It would be nice if you could go with me,” she mused, staring over the battlements into the cool, clear hope of morning.

Dawn was coming; the night still clung in velvet shadows to the quiet keep. It felt as if it were just the two of them, though Cullen knew the watch was vigilant and not far enough away. He would have been lying not to admit that he had thought of traveling with her. Sleeping together again beneath the stars, sharing the quiet of a campfire with no one but each other.

“I would slow you down terribly,” he said.

Essa laughed. “Only because of that armor. A horse comfortable with that weight would be more lumbering than you pretend to be.”

“I do not lumber!” His offense was feigned, but it made her laugh again. They hadn’t shared a moment alone since he’s slipped beneath her guard the morning of Josin’s judgment, but that had been circumstance rather than intention.

“Keep an eye on Cari for me,” Essa entreated. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but...”

But she worried. He knew that she did, though he didn’t know why.

“I will do my best,” he promised.

Cullen still wasn’t certain what to make of Essa’s sister. Since her arrival, there had been a fair amount of confusion and drama as she was regularly mistaken for Essa. They looked enough alike to be twins; the shape and color of their eyes was nearly identical, or so he had heard a number of times as Josie and Leliana marveled at their similarities. Everyone—including Essa—agreed that the two women looked eerily alike, but every facet of warmth in Essa was a shiver of cold in Cari. Cullen couldn’t see past their differences.

“She’s…” Essa trailed off with a sigh. “She had it much harder than I did growing up.”

Cullen found that unlikely. Cari’s skin was fair, kept from the sun and pampered in ways that would have no doubt stood Leliana proud. Her nose was an elegant line, her eyes like winter rather than smoke. She carried herself with the bearing of nobility, and Free Marcher or no, Cullen did not think it a stretch to say that she would have been at ease among the most elite houses of Orlais.  In the time that she had been at Skyhold, Lady Trevelyan—and it was  _Lady_ Trevelyan—had spoken only a handful of words to him, and their last encounter had been when she stopped his and Essa’s discussion with the scathing reprimand only an older sister could muster.

“Essa, you were raised by a mabari.”

She nodded. “And a father who loved me. Cari was raised by our mother. Don’t mistake her quiet for callousness.”

“I will take care not to misjudge her,” Cullen promised.

Essa smiled. “Thank you.”

They were easier with one another than they had been when she first returned to Skyhold, even with their rather impressive recent disagreement. Still, Cullen knew that neither of them was certain how to define what they were to one another. Friendship was easy, but then so was longing.

“Be careful,” he murmured, before he could stop himself.

“I will.”

She surprised him then, stepping close and wrapping her arms around his waist. He cursed his armor even as she placed her cheek against the cool metal, as if she could hear his heart echoing behind so many walls. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, fingers threading gently through her hair.

“We’re going to talk about the anchor and your magic,” he said, pressing an impulsive kiss to the top of her head. “When you get home.”

It was one of a half dozen impediments that Essa believed lay between them, and who was he to gainsay her?

She nodded, then reached to catch his other hand with her left. Even through his glove and hers, Cullen could feel a faint thrumming, a rush of magic like blood beneath her skin.

“I will try to keep my temper,” she vowed.

Cullen chuckled. “I will try to keep an open mind.”

“If you could,” Essa began hesitantly. “Will you give me a list of questions to look over beforehand? I’ll…be less prickly if I have some time to prepare.”

“I will leave them on your desk.”

“No,” Essa made to step back, and Cullen reluctantly released her. “Cari’s still staying in my quarters while Josephine prepares a more permanent space for her. My sister is…well, ‘snoop’ sounds harsh, but if you don’t want her knowing something, you’d best take extra steps. If she can convince Leliana to train her, she’ll be a force.”

There was pride in her voice and Cullen chuckled. She kept his hand in hers, absently toying with his fingers. Cullen wondered if she even realized what she was doing.

“But you trust her,” he asked, knowing that where another might, Essa would not take offense.

“As much as Fin,” she replied, surprising him. “Still, I want some things just for me.”

Essa seemed to realize then that she was still holding his hand. Cullen watched a blush creep up her neck.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered glancing away. “You aren’t a thing, and you aren’t mine. I—“

Cullen stared past her, trying to convince himself it was the late morning sun warming his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand then dropped his arm in agitation.

“This is ridiculous,” he said.

“What is?” Her gaze skittered towards him, glancing away at the last moment.

“I am yours,” he answered. “As much as I can be anyone else’s anyway.”

She looked up at him startled. “But what if I don’t want you?”

“You want me.”

She laughed and swatted him. “That’s not what I meant. What if I can’t have you?”

He pulled her back into a hug. “If that’s what you decide,  whenever you decide, that’s fine. Until then, I’ll be here.”

“Waiting?” she asked, as if it were unfathomable.

“Not quite.”

He tried very hard not to laugh at her confusion. “Waiting implies that I’m missing out on something else while you make up your mind. I’m not. I don’t want anything else.”


	7. Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Shrine of Dumat. TWs for violence, animal death, fire. Angst. Grief.

There was—there would only ever be—flame. Scarlet and gold, azure and ocher. It seemed the fire would not stop until it had scorched the very stars from the sky. The conflagration surged, an impartial, inexorable torrent, as flames devoured all that fell before them blistering. Scalding. There were so many screams. She counted each voice, listened as they broke like crystal bells, ringing and shattering against the endless smoldering. They baked inside their armor, tore it off, roasted without it before the inferno consumed them with incidental mercy, stealing air and consciousness, blasting away all pain and life in a sudden concussion of clear, shimmering heat.

The forest raged as it fell, sap boiling and hissing beneath splitting bark, leaves crackling in the grim caricature of hearth and home. Until even the promise of darkness crowding cold and aching in the distance became memory amid the ash. Essa knelt in searing brightness and placed a single kiss against the beloved cheek of her friend.

Smoke’s pyre blazed blue amidst the firestorm.

“Leave her, Cassandra.” The command was terse. “She’ll have to burn herself out. The oxbow will contain the flames.”

“But—“ Cassandra’s protest was drowned out by a roar of flame.

“Looks like fury, but there is grace,” Cole’s soft cadence was nearly lost as a tree crashed to the ground, showering sparks perilously near Dorian’s wavering barrier. “Let her burn.”

*

When night yielded slowly to the dawn, only smoke and embers remained. Essa sat tailor fashion amid the fragile charred skeletons of the trees. Her eyes were closed, hair a tangle covered in soot, but her dirt streaked face was serene.  All total, only a few acres of sparse woodland were consumed in the fire. The death toll was not easily determined; the Inquisition had lost three scouts, and two horses. Cole helpfully confirmed that all of their enemies were dead, though he did not offer numbers, seeming only to approve of the casualties. Nothing remained of the camp.

They left her there, at Cole’s insistence, proceeding wearily to the next camp to send a raven ahead of them to Skyhold and procure fresh supplies, and another pair of horses. Essa waited in ash and silence, breathing in the acrid bite of retribution, blessedly empty of all but herself. When the clouds rolled in, she turned her face to the sky. When the rain came, she let it cleanse her, surrendering to the low, deep rumble as thunder shook the ground, rolling up through her spine as if the Maker himself sang in benediction. Lightning stung the air electric white, lifted every hair on Essa’s body and left her joints feeling large and hollow.

Filled with silence.

Essa’s tears mingled with the rain, and she knew that she was not only crying for Smoke, but for nearly a dozen years of caged grief. She lifted her voice against the deluge, and tried not to choke on the rain as she sang her ghosts home. When the storm finally passed, she rose from wet cinders, brushed her hands off on tattered armor and waded across the river.

*

“Cole and Dorian have gone to get horses,” Cassandra said, stepping from beneath a rocky overhang.

Essa smiled faintly. Her face was wan beneath the grime, but her eyes were clear. “I should have known you hadn’t left.”

“You should have.” Cassandra did not spare Essa’s bedraggled appearance another glance before she began walking east. Essa fell into step beside her.

“You’re angry with me?” Essa sounded surprised. She shouldn’t have been.

“I am.” Cassandra trudged, feet stomping along the path. She had waited through the night, vision blurred by smoke and uncertainty.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“No.” They certainly were not.

“Are you going to speak in single syllables all the way back to Skyhold?” Essa sighed.

“Perhaps.” Cassandra grunted.

Essa replied with a tired grin. “Well, I’m going to sleep,” she returned. “Just as soon as Dorian and Cole meet us with the horses. Try not to worry when I don’t wake up easily.”

She finally had Cassandra’s attention.

“You are—“

“Exhausted,” Essa answered before Cassandra could flounder for an appropriate end to her question. Essa glanced behind them. “You didn’t think that was unintentional, did you?”

“I may have,” she muttered. What else was she to have thought? When the Courser had fallen…“You were…enraged. Perhaps even understandably so. For you.”

Essa slipped her hand into the crook of Cassandra’s elbow. Cassandra stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. Essa leaned against her, more heavily than she would have normally.

“I’m sorry that you had to contemplate making the wild apostate tranquil,” Essa said with forced contrition and an attempt at humor.

“It wasn’t the wild apostate that gave me difficulty,” Cassandra groused. “It was the Inquisitor.”

She huffed on an exhale, turned to regard Essa carefully. “You were not out of control?”

“I was not. And I would admit it if I had been.”

Cassandra nodded once. “Then you have an abysmal temper,” she declared. “And it saved most of us.”

“I do,” Essa agreed. “But…” She stopped. “We’ll discuss it later. I just want to make sure you know that I’m not threat.”

“Ha!” Cassandra glared at her. “You have always been a threat.” She smiled slightly. “But not to us.”

Up ahead in the distance, the first echoes of hoof beats could be heard. Cassandra stared toward the horizon waiting for the riders to come into view.

“They must have run all night,” Essa whispered.

“I would imagine.”

It had been early enough in the evening when everything went up in flames.

“Then we can walk all day.” Essa’s hand gripped her arm, fingers pressing hard and urgent. “You’ll get me home, Cassandra?”

“Of course I will.”

Before she could ask the purpose of such a ridiculous question, Essa dropped at her feet.

*

When the bells announced Essa’s arrival, Cari was standing beside Cullen on the battlements. For the past four days they had taken turns at the watch, trusting only to their own and Fin’s vigilance. The second raven had arrived a day behind the first and assuaged most of their fears, but neither of them would rest easy until Essa was home and they could see her for themselves. Those fraught, harried days had forged an unspoken bond between them and while Cullen was not ready to trust Lady Trevelyan outright, he would not deny that she seemed to care very much for her sister.

“Wait,” she murmured, catching his arm before Cullen could hurry down the stairs. “You’ll cause alarm and so will I if we rush down to her.”

They strode to the inside wall, stared down at the yard as Essa, Cassandra, Cole, and Dorian rode in through the gate.

“Oh, no,” Cari said softly, hand lifting to press over her lips. “She lost the horse.”

Cullen saw that she was right; Essa was not riding the Orlesian Courser upon which she had departed. Cari’s eyes were a violet mist as she watched Fin and Dennet meet the riders.

“He’s got her.” Cari’s relief was audible as Fin helped her sister dismount.

Essa leaned against the smith, and Cullen thought he might understand a little of what Cari was feeling. He thought his heart would leap from his chest when Essa’s voice drifted up to them.

“Just tired,” she assured Fin.

Cullen couldn’t make out the rest, but then Josephine was in the yard, motioning toward the stairs in welcome. Fin nodded, tucked Essa companionably against his side in a maneuver that probably fooled most but not Cullen. Essa leaned too wearily against Fin. Dorian and Cassandra trudged along in their wake as Dennet led the horses away.

“She will want you both,” Cole announced, appearing beside them on the walk.

Cari jolted beside him and Cullen patted her hand in what measure of comfort he could offer.

“Is she alright?” he asked, knowing that no matter the answer he would not be satisfied.

“She is,” Cole replied gently. “Quiet and bright beneath the raging. She didn’t expect it.”

Cari frowned.

“Thank you, Cole,” Cullen said, leading—a bit forcibly—Essa’s sister along the walk toward the keep.

“She saved many,” Cole added. “Everything burned so clean.”

Cari opened her mouth to speak and Cullen shook his head waiting for whatever else Cole might have to say.

“She’ll sleep,” he said helpfully. “But she’ll know you’re close. She’ll want you close.”

*

By the time they reached Essa’s quarters, Josephine and Fin were already stripping a nearly catatonic Essa of her clothes. Cullen didn’t think he had ever seen her so filthy. She smelled like an ash bucket, looked very much as if someone had dumped one over her.

“She needs a proper bath,” Josie worried as she tugged off Essa’s second boot. “There’s water in the washroom, but it’s cold.”

“It’ll be fine,” Cullen assured her as Cari left his side to help. “She doesn’t get cold.”

“The tub is filled,” Cassandra said, emerging from the washroom. She shook her head in annoyance. “She’s not an invalid. You two stop.”

Fin and Josie eyed her curiously, and suspiciously, as she drew near.

“Herald.” The title held a strong note of command. Cassandra rapped Essa sharply on the cheek. “Wake up. You need to bathe.”

“Cassandra?” Slowly, Essa opened her eyes. She smiled at Cassandra, eyes bright and wholly herself. Her head lolled and when she saw her sister, her lips stretched into a beatific grin. “Cari!” Her soft exclamation preceded a blissful sigh. “I’m home. I can rest.”

Cassandra snapped her fingers in front of Essa’s face, drew her attention back. “Not until you’re clean.”

Essa nodded obediently enough until her head rolled in the other direction and she noticed Fin.

“Oh, you’re here too.”

Fin chuckled. “I am.”

“Fin, I lost Smoke,” Essa’s voice broke on the Courser’s name.

She struggled to turn in Fin’s arms and Cari used the movement to deftly divest Essa of two layers of leather and mail. Fin held her close, her face against his broad chest, cheek over his heart. Essa’s eyes met Cullen’s through a sheen of tears. She reached one hand out toward him.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” she asked and they all tried to answer her at once.

Essa pulled away from Fin, lifting up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Tell Dennet I’m sorry?”

“I will,” he promised. “But I don’t need to.”

She nodded, reached one hand back for her sister. “I need a bath,” she said, blinking her eyes wide in an obvious attempt to fight her own exhaustion.

“Yes,” Cari replied. “And then you’re going to sleep in that grand bed of yours, yes?”

“Just for you,” Essa sighed. “But I want the doors open.”

“Fair trade,” Cari returned, her words ringing with history and habit.

Josie waited for the sisters to adjourn to the adjoining washroom.

“We’ll meet here,” she decided, quietly. “I will have enough food sent up for all of us.”

Cassandra nodded.  Fin assumed dismissal and headed for the stairs.

“Ser Larkson?” Josie called.

“Yes, my lady?”

“You will be returning later in the day?”

The smith nodded.

“We would be honored for you to join us for supper,” Josie offered, allowing little room for argument. She glanced toward the washroom. “We will take care of her.”

Fin smiled. “We all will.”

*

An hour later, Essa was clean, tucked in among pillows and sheets that she would not have wanted in a bed Cullen was almost certain she had never slept in. Cari perched on the edge of the large mattress, eyes watchful and uncertain. Essa’s soft snores teased an occasional smile to her sister’s face, but Cullen could tell that Cari hadn’t quite decided what to make of the informal meeting in the Inquisitor’s quarters. He could have told her it wasn’t the first such. Essa did not often stand on ceremony, and she enjoyed being able to use the space as her own even without sleeping there.

They had replaced Essa’s borrowed sofa with a larger one and two plush chairs. Josephine and Leliana had taken the couch. Cullen stood, restless and worried despite everyone’s—even Essa’s—assurances that she was fine. Cassandra sat in of the chairs, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, eyes narrowed into the space before her.

“The Shrine was nearly a week behind us,” she said tonelessly. “We camped between Lydes and Halamshiral with three of our scouts that we had met on the road that morning. It was a nice enough spot. An oxbow in the river, good cover afforded by the trees. They waited until watches had been assigned and night had settled before going for the horses. I believe that their intention was to simply scatter the mounts. They would have been useful once they’d dealt with us. The Herald’s Courser resisted, but the mare was no warhorse. Her screams were our alarm.”

“Do you know who they were?” Cullen asked.

“We never saw. Two of the scouts went down with arrows in their throats. Another burned with lightning. We scrambled into our gear, but the Herald—“

She sighed. “Essa was already outside; she does not sleep in a tent. She called out a number that I do not recall, but at the time I remember thinking it was not good odds for us.”

Cassandra shook her head. “The rest is a wash of flame.”

“She lost control?” Cari asked, shocked to her feet.

Dread settled into Cullen’s stomach, a sudden plunging knot.

“She says that she did not,” Cassandra murmured, glancing to where Essa slept. “And I believe her.”

“She’s been mostly unconscious ever since?” Leliana asked.

“She has, but she said she was going to sleep all the way home,” Cassandra shook her head. “You did not see the destruction she unleashed. If she says that she is simply tired, she has reason to be.”

“Let her sleep,” Cole said, appearing on the stairwell.

Cullen smiled when only Cari startled. They had all adjusted to the spirit’s presence over the winter. He made a note to tell Essa when she woke, knowing how it would please her.

“She’s not in pain,” Cole answered an unspoken question. “There is grief, but she will bear it. She is tired. Tempered. She’ll awake stronger.”

“But will she be happy?” Only Cari had the luxury of that demand.

“You will have to ask her.”


End file.
